The Redhunter (48 page)

Harry was reading the
Washington Star
in the cab when the honking began from behind. He looked up. The traffic light had gone green. His cab driver was slumped
over the steering wheel. Harry reached over and shook him by the shoulder, but there was no reaction. The honks were increasing
in frequency and duration. Harry stepped outside the cab and looked back at the driver in the truck behind him, whose horn
was unremitting. He thrust up his right arm, palm raised, and shook his head two or three times vigorously—please would he
release the horn. He opened the driver’s door and turned up the head of the elderly black man. Harry searched desperately
for signs of life.

He found none. The cab was blocking the traffic, now a block long, on the crowded avenue. He managed to think purposefully
through the cacophony. He nudged the body of the driver over to the passenger side of the seat, got into the driver’s seat,
slammed shut the car door, and slipped the car into gear. Driving at a slow speed, he looked for a parking space. Anyplace
that wouldn’t block the rush-hour file of cars he could see stretching down Constitution Avenue. In desperation he turned
up Fifteenth Street and veered sharp left—onto the sidewalk. It was a cop who came running, and a cop was just who Harry wanted
to see.

“Looks like a heart attack, officer. You better call an ambulance.”

“You wait right here, mister,” the young, crew-cut police officer said breathlessly. “Be right back.”

Harry waited impatiently while the officer zigzagged across the avenue, dodging the cars, making jerky headway to the police
telephone box. It seemed a very long time, though it was not more than five minutes before the officer was back. “The ambulance
is on its way!” he reported excitedly. He pulled out a police pad.

What exactly had happened? he asked, his pencil over the pad. Harry told it all, briskly; but it was haltingly taken down,
from the “How do you spell Bontecou?” which took much time to write down, to “Who is your employer?” to “How do you spell
McCarthy?”

It was 6:45 when he reached room 455 at the Hay-Adams. He was startled to hear Cohn, opening the door, say to him—in Joe’s
presence, a few feet away—”I thought I told you to be here at six.”

Harry looked at him and gave no answer. He hung his coat and walked over to McCarthy, seated in shirtsleeves, tie askew, in
an arm-chair.
On the dining table set up to one side of the two armchairs and the sofa opposite were the forks and spoons and knives and
napkins, a single rose in a vase, and a bucket of ice and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Joe. My taxi driver dropped dead in the middle of traffic. Had to stay and answer some questions.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. We’ve been talking about the Mon-mouth situation. Roy thinks the time is here to run headlong
into Ike on the executive-order issue and maybe—”

“Ike wants to have it both ways,” Cohn interrupted. “We’ve run into a real vipers’ nest at Monmouth—took me a lot of hours—”

“Roy’s done a great job,” McCarthy said, pouring another drink. “Roy’s a brilliant fellow, we all know that. But he is really
devoted to McCarthy, you know. Harry, bourbon? Or you want something else? Here.” He reached for the telephone and rang room
service before Harry could speak. “Senator McCarthy here. Send up—”to Harry—“What?”

“A beer would be fine.”

“Send up six beers. The dinner? No, ma’am, we’re not ready for that. Dinner, say,” he looked at his watch, “at eight o’clock.”
He hung up the phone and looked benignly at Harry. “You were saying, Roy?”

“We ran right into the Truman presidential order forbidding testimony on loyalty/security by federal personnel. I’ve been
saying to Joe: Let’s stop fooling around with Ike. He’s no good at this kind of stuff, doesn’t really care, I expect, too
used to dealing diplomatically with everybody in sight, including Joe Stalin’s direct representatives in Europe—”

“That’s a good point, Roy,” McCarthy said. “A very good point. We haven’t ever really stressed that point, that Ike got used
to dealing with the Communists as allies. Have we?”

“
Never
. When you did the expose on Marshall, Joe, nobody heard a peep from Ike. He was running for president. He didn’t care about
Marshall—maybe he even wondered what it was all about, your exposé. Probably figured, Well, the Soviets were on our side,
weren’t they?”

“Now wait a minute, Roy,” Harry said. “Eisenhower has talked about the Communist problem
repeatedly
. He was commander of NATO before he ran for office. What’s the purpose of NATO except to stand up against the Russians?”

“Well.” Cohn’s was a soft tread in retreat. “
Joe
knows what I mean. And right now we’ve got this Monmouth situation.”

“Joe,” Harry turned his head, “you want me in on this whole business?”

“I sure as hell do, Harry. I’m counting on you to write the speech I’ll give tomorrow. And,” he looked over at Cohn, “I want
your judgment in the matter.”

“Well then I’d better get briefed on the particulars. All I got is what Roy gave me over the phone this afternoon.”

“You’re dead right. Roy, you bring Harry up to speed. I’ve got to call Jeanie—” The doorbell rang. “That would be room service.
Let ‘em in, Roy.”

“Harry, you get the door. I’m bringing up my notes.”

Harry rose and let the waiter in.

At nine, Alice Mayhue called up from the lobby. “Want her to come up?” Cohn looked at McCarthy.

Harry said: “I can do it. Tell her to go home.”

It was after nine o’clock, after dinner. Joe had asked for his steak rare. “Before Jeanie, I used to ask for my steak ‘cremated’!”
Harry had managed to eat his dinner and take notes. With the coffee he began cautiously on his second beer.

“So what you think, Harry?” McCarthy asked.

“I think you’ve got clear evidence of loyalty/security neglect at Monmouth. A perfect case for investigation by your committee,
Joe. But what’s the point in going to war with Eisenhower over this?”

Cohn pounded on the table. “For God’s sakes, Harry. Do I have to say it again? It’s because of the presidential order forbidding
testimony—”

“I know about that, Roy. I wrote a speech for Joe in 1950 questioning that order. I cited Woodrow Wilson. He said—in
Congressional Government
—that the most important function of Congress is its investigative function. We’ve raised the problem three, four times—”

“You’re making my point, Harry. We’ve jawed about it for years and now we have a very direct example of how that executive
gag is preventing any reform, so the time has come to put the blame on the person who is responsible for the perpetuation
of the gag order.”

“Look, Roy. Look, Joe—”Harry turned to McCarthy. “The constitutional business, separation of powers business—that’s an important
fight. But because Monmouth is hot isn’t a reason to attack Eisenhower directly. If you do, the commotion isn’t going to be
about Monmouth, it’s going to be about McCarthy versus the president. We’ve got to win the loyalty/security fight
under an Eisenhower administration
. It’s crazy to challenge him personally. He isn’t clipping fresh congressional wings—he’s just staying on with a policy that
President Truman came up with—six years ago, in 1948. There isn’t any pent-up congressional opposition to that order; it’s
pretty widely accepted as executive privilege. Why muck up the Monmouth business with a fight against Ike?”

“Why?” Cohn burst in. “Because
that
is the great hindrance to effective congressional investigation!”

“Well, the way to make that point, Roy, is to proceed with the hearings and get the two army officers to say they won’t testify.
Then let Joe raise the point in the Senate—what do we do about this constitutional logjam? But it should be floated as a where-do-we-go-from-here
question, and the way
not
to do it is to go after President Eisenhower in a speech tomorrow.”

“Harry.” Cohn got up on his feet and turned to the window, looking out on the lighted wing of the hotel, opposite. “Harry,
I’m here backing Joe McCarthy. He’s gotten where he’s gotten by courage and vision. He knows what enemy fire is. You don’t.
You want to shrink from it. He’s not afraid.”

McCarthy cleared his throat. “Harry, I think Roy is right. We got to get the word out there, to the whole bureaucracy. When
you find the federal government sitting on its ass, doing nothing, you got to come to us. … Tell you what. Let’s compromise.
We won’t go after Eisenhower
directly
. But we’ll make our point in unmistakable language. We’ll invite everybody in government—
everybody
—to tell McCarthy what’s going on, right, Roy? Let them know they’re welcome and the hell with presidential orders to keep
knowledge of subversive activities to themselves.”

There was a moment of silence, during which McCarthy poured another drink and nudged a third bottle of beer toward Harry.

“Joe,” Harry said, “could I draft that statement for you? I could do it now, in longhand, or bring it to you tomorrow, typed
up.”

McCarthy looked at his watch. “It’s only just after ten. Why not whack away at it here? You got your briefcase, go right ahead.
I’m going to look in on the late news on TV. Roy, let’s see what’s going on in that part of the world that doesn’t have the
benefit of our advice.”

Harry retreated to the end of the room. Joe and Roy watched the end of the football game, waiting for the news that would
follow. The network news gave thirty seconds to Senator McCarthy leaving Fort Monmouth, waving his right hand, index and third
fingers parted, at the reporters, saying, “I’ll be back,” with a smile.

“He did
what?
” The curtains were closed in the Oval Office. All the lights had been turned off. It would be so until eleven, at which point
the ophthalmologist would reappear, insert two drops of the lotion in each eye, and, after two hours of light-abstinence,
his patient would don his glasses and his assistants would let in the sunlight.

“Read it to me. Turn on the picture light, by the Cabinet room. I’ll look away.”

James Hagerty went off to the front of the room, under the portrait of James Madison, and turned on the picture light. He
angled the paper in his hand to make it visible in the dim light.

“What came first, Mr. President, was that Senator McCarthy convened the executive committee of his committee—”

“Which one is that? I forget.”

“It’s the Senate Government Operations Committee’s Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations. They can look into anything,
very broad mandate. Anyway, he asked the executive committee to approve a joint declaration criticizing you for keeping in
place President Truman’s ban on testimony by federal employees to congressional committees on personnel security matters.
The majority refused to go along, so McCarthy said he would make his
own
statement. Here’s what he said, Mr. President. ‘As far as I am concerned’—the senator read this to the press—‘As far as I
am concerned, I would like to notify the
two million federal employees that I feel it is their duty to give us any information which they have about graft, corruption,
Communism, treason, and that there is no loyalty to a superior officer which can tower above and beyond their loyalty to their
country.’ ”

Eisenhower broke in. “
No loyalty to a superior officer?
Is that man
crazy?
Loyalty to a superior officer is what democratic structure is all about. It’s not just the army. If you don’t have loyalty
to a superior officer you should quit. Those two million federal government employees
have to have
loyalty to their superiors. Discipline, order, mutual esteem—they don’t work under any other arrangement. Was that how McCarthy
left it?”

“No, sir. Senator McCarthy wasn’t through. His statement to the press says, ‘I may say that I hope that the day comes when
this administration notifies all federal employees that any information which they have about wrongdoing should be given to
any congressional committee which is empowered to take it, period.’ ”

“Get me Bernie Shanley.”

The president, eyes studiously sheltered, waited impatiently. Hagerty, keeping his voice down, told the White House operator
to locate the White House counsel and have him come
immediately
to the Oval Office. “Only way I can make it out, Jim, is McCarthy is inviting
two million employees
to defy the presidential interdict against communicating to Congress complaints about security personnel estimates. That
would mean anyone with any beef who wants to call any other employee a security risk could write—write to what? What was that
one qualifier he used?”

“He said, ‘any congressional committee which is empowered to take it.’ ”

“What in the hell kind of qualification is that?
No
congressional committee is ‘empowered’ to solicit testimony prohibited by his department head, pursuant to executive order.
Never mind Shanley. Get me the attorney general.”